Unfinished Business, a Heather story
by nightbird47
Summary: The first casualty of war is innocence.


Title: Unfinished Business

Series: Jericho

Unfinished Business

A Heather story

Holding the cutters at an angle, she clipped the wires. The small knife she carried was sharp, and she stripped the tips carefully without cutting herself.

She was sweating in the cold room, listening for company.

The other boxes were finished. She clipped another set of wires and stripped the tips quickly, some sense born of survival making her wary.

*Don't hurry. It has to be done right this time.*

She pulled one wire from each of the clipped pairs and twisted them together. A length of electrical tape sealed the new connection, repeating the process with the remaining wires. Then she double checked her work.

Her tools had been hidden in the oversized, filthy coveralls the workers wore. She had made pockets to hide them inside the grimy fabric of the undershirt, and cut the bottoms of the coverall's pockets away.

There were only a few tools-wire cutters, tape, a screwdriver and the knife. Heather's life had come full circle, from her hotwiring days to the schoolteacher and back.

Running her hand through her hair, trimmed short in uneven clumps, she allowed herself a small victory, and even a little satisfaction. She was here to finish what she had started so many months before. This time it would succeed.

Checking her work, she stuffed the wires inside the box and replaced the cover.

They'd been wrong the first time around. A few mortars had been a week's days worth of terror, and a run for her life in the hazardous world outside the towns. And then New Bern's war, just a little sooner than planned.

This would finally end the danger.

Wiping the dirt and grease from her hands inside her uniform and putting the tools back in their hiding places, she listened.

Just the wind. The empty wind that made the old building creek.

This was the last of her tasks. They'd never find her work. The factory would be ashes when the inevitable came to be.

The battle was won, and nobody knew but her.

She slipped out of the room, making no sound. They wouldn't catch her this time. She would not allow herself to ever be merchandise again. Her mission was complete and now her life was expendable.

With grim eyes she snuck back to the barracks, crawling into her cot and under the blanket.

Tomorrow she would run. If they caught her, the knife would make it a very brief captivity.

oo0oo

Jericho had been altered beyond recognition.

First there had been the honeymoon.

The Cheyenne army had stopped the battle and separated the towns. They'd saved many lives that day, both from harm and injuries the clinic could never have treated. Food had been shipped in, and partial utilities restored. The soldiers were there, but tolerated amid the sudden bounty.

But not everyone was so grateful. Having had time to breathe, the dead were remembered. The mortars that rocked their world could never be forgotten. Those in New Bern remembered seeing their children starving and how Jericho never meant to stand by the deal. The need for closure-now revenge-replaced the relief that the worst was over.

Then came the stick. With the first killing, the honeymoon became an occupation.

Little by little, Cheyenne tightened their control. Amid growing sabotage and deaths, martial law was declared. Citizens were forced to submit to searches. As vigilantes slipped past the army's security, strict curfew's were imposed and enforced. As weapons were stolen and used, raids came in the middle of the night accompanied by arrests.

Anger shifted from just each other to the army.

All semblance of laws and rights had been lost.

When Constantino was murdered the military took total control.

Nobody knew which side had killed him. A new elite had formed in New Bern and he was in the way-and Jericho would never forget how he started the war.

Working utilities disappeared. Food shipments became scarce. Suspects were shot on the spot. Everybody got the message.

Then came the deal. Jericho would supply their quota of food and salt. New Bern would manufacture mortars and other goods, the army taking their quota first. There would be no acts of aggression against each other. And the army would leave them alone.

Grey officially accepted the offer even if he no longer had any authority. Jake Green's decision to take it was what mattered.

The army went away. Utilities were spotty due to the sabotage of the preceding months. Food was hardly abundant but enough. Life took on the illusion of calm. But fear was still a daily companion.

Grey was forced to resign due to questionable loyalties and Eric moved up to mayor, even if he had no more power than Grey.

Jake was the de facto leader and everyone knew it. He'd stood up for the town against the army. He would make sure that New Bern kept to the deal.

There was nothing left of the little town that had survived the bombs and the winter.

And nothing at all for Heather. She watched it all from the distant place where she had come to exist.

No one ever asked what had been done to her in New Bern, knowing she would never tell them. She allowed them their own answers, nothing as bad as the truth.

The Heather who had gone to New Bern to turn on the lights was dead. She lived her life, moving from one duty to another, hiding behind a mask that hid the sea of pain that lived inside her.

The Jake that led the town was not the man that had left her that dark night on the road to New Bern. He wore armor as thick as hers. And now he had Emily to lean on.

Heather's friend had died running from Constantino. As much as she could feel anything, she envied Jake.

Sometimes she caught him watching. His stare saw through all the shielding she wore. But sharing pain can be a comfort or a reminder. She saw through his mask, too. Underneath the cold eyes, he was afraid.

He watched, but never came near.

His life belonged to the town, the people and its survival.

Nothing mattered to Heather except a revenge she could not voice.

oo0oo

She did not run that day. Surviving to see the victory would keep her alive.

The bell and the guards startled her awake. But this time the women were herded down a corridor to an open room. A pile of coveralls lay in the middle.

Searches happened occasionally. Forcing herself to be calm, she peeled off the coveralls, hiding the tools under a loose brick she'd found during another search. Then she pulled off the shirt and dropped it on top of the brick.

The suit that liked her was standing by the door, his eyes locked on her. He moved a little closer as the intimate search proceeded, the guard nervous. His attention insured that nothing else would happen. His claim would not be disputed. Alone, the suit would have the right to do what he wanted to her, but none of the guards would ever touch her again. She didn't know if he should die quickly as payment for the protection he provided, or last for the cost she paid.

Once it was over she dressed hurriedly, slipping the tools inside the pocket of the new coveralls. With the knife she slashed open the pocket enough to slip it into its holder. The other tools went in the coverall's pocket where she could easily retrieve them.

What passed as breakfast was eaten and they were sent to their jobs.

Her work went unnoticed in the same tired, apathetic way everyone's did. But for Heather that day it was an act. Each time she disposed of her tools-the tape dropped into a hot melt, the wire cutters and screwdriver destroyed in shell casings still hot from the molding, she fought to keep the relief hidden.

In case she failed, there was the knife.

When she woke that morning, everything had changed. From that day on, the work could be slow and the hours longer. The ration could be cut. She was growing indifferent to being taken. None of it mattered. One day soon the New Bern factory would become a fireball and her revenge would be paid.

Heather didn't know if she preferred to feel the heat and end the pain or share the victory at home. But as the hours grew longer with the days, the final moment was soon to come.

oo0oo

Heather's merging with the bodies that saved the towns from the army was easy.

The "trade" that existed before the army, and remained afterwards was carefully overlooked by everyone. New Bern needed bodies to work in their factories that could be easily replaced. Jericho, without the combines destroyed by the EMP, needed them for the punishing work of meeting their quota of food and still feeding themselves.

There were still plenty of refugees with no place to run. Heather had simply mixed with a batch headed for New Bern's factories. With her hair cut, filthy and sullen, nobody would recognize her. "Labor", as the dealers referred to them, were no different than the truckloads of units churned out in the factories.

She would eliminate their suffering.

But she was just young enough, with a trace of the pretty woman she'd been that she was taken for other duties during the night. She did not try to kill them. She did not resist at all. She did not kill herself as others did. Her mission was not complete and she would use any means she could to make sure it would be.

After the guards had fallen asleep, she'd stolen the tools she needed. The electrical box in their quarters was the first to be rewired while they rested. She hoped the spark that would set the New Bern munitions factory a blaze would come from that particular box.

It was her special repayment. Maybe as a gift, or as a torment, however it played out she knew they would die.

oo0oo

Everyone-guards, prisoners and the suits that controlled both-were nervous. The New Bern munitions factory was behind in production. Everyone knew they wouldn't make the quota and the army would come back.

In the meanwhile, the workers would be pushed harder. There would be more accidents and the repairs to the old machinery would wipe out any gains.

There was a hierarchy to those gathered before the factory. When the army came, they would all be the same.

Heather could feel the tension. Even the workers were scared enough to welcome the dangerous conditions of a rushed line to avoid the soldiers.

She did not fear the army. New Bern might fail on its own. The factory would burn, but perhaps too late for the victory that kept her from giving up.

She couldn't run anymore. The suit had claimed her and should she try anyone would have stopped her. With the factory so dangerous he'd keep her now. He wouldn't allow his favorite toy to die.

She hated him. It was the first hint of feeling since she'd run away from Constantino. Somehow, the factory must burn so she could end all of it.

She could feel his stare as the line slowly snaked its way into the factory.

The knife pressed against her leg. She hid it from him for the day she could kill him.

Then she knew. He was going to keep her safe that day. Everyone would know why she was gone.

He couldn't stop her from starting the fire if he was dead.

The filthy clothes would burn clean with her soul when the fire came.

He was behind her, pulling her away. She didn't resist, but was watching. He wouldn't stop her from running away today, even just to die.

But fate had other ideas.

There was fear in the air that day, from the suits to the guards to the prisoners. Old resentments and squabbles, grudges that had nowhere to go all exploded in the hot, nervous sun.

The street was anarchy. He tried to drag her away but she broke free. He lost her in the mayhem and, this time, she ran.

Past the factory, and the riot, growing more out of control. Past the damaged buildings. Past the stables with the only transportation out of town. Everyone was rushing to the riot while she raced the mare past them and out of New Bern.

oo0oo

Jake ordered the sabotage. New Bern was eventually going to use some of the weapons they made. No matter how big a danger the army was, revenge would eventually win out.

Jericho could not allow the risk. Not that New Bern would attack or that Jericho could be blamed for the factory by anyone.

The means had to be hidden. But New Bern would never endanger anyone again. The army would leave Jericho alone as long as the fire was the result of ancient wiring. Any suspicion, and the occupation of their town would resume. This time there would be no deals.

He'd made Eric ask for her help but knew she couldn't or wouldn't refuse. The army had forced Jericho into the new world. But New Bern had branded itself on her soul.

It was her plan. The electrical system was grounded, but if she cut the ground wires, eventually the factory would burn.

She had insisted on carrying it out herself. No matter that he saw too much of himself in her eyes, he would not deny her that satisfaction.

If the fire was big enough, it might burn down all of New Bern.

oo0oo

The mare had run off while she rested.

Once she was out of New Bern, Heather's world had collapsed.

He would not have her, but would live. The riot would shut down the factory for a few days and the army might come before the fire had destroyed it.

She had failed.

Huddled against the scattered trees that dotted the rolling hills, the wind bit through her clothes in the cold night.

The payback that kept her alive was gone. The open plains were dangerous but she didn't care. Even if she survived the night, it didn't matter if she ever saw home again.

She slept.

But was startled awake by the hand gripping her arm.

All the hopeless thoughts vanished and she was very calm.

He yanked her up, hurting her, but she didn't care. Dizzy, she almost fell, but a hard slap against her cheek only briefly stunned her.

Even in the moonlight she could see his eyes. Hard, cold, unforgiving eyes that would spare nothing.

He wouldn't kill her, just make her wish he would.

Like the bastards had before.

The day she wired the factory she thought her life was forfeit, but she'd been wrong. He wasn't Constantino but he would do.

She tensed a little but he didn't notice, pulling her close, hurting her. She clenched her teeth against the pain.

Gripping her arm, he would drag her back to his world.

A warning. "You don't run."

She was calm. He yanked at the coveralls and she could feel the anger. Pressed against him, she slid her arm free.

She made it a dream. There are no limits to the reality of dreams.

She was very still. His grip relaxed. Her hand slipped into a pocket he didn't know was there and clenched the knife.

Playing the game, she allowed herself to fall limp while he laughed.

"Bitch," he said, pinching her. She twisted a little but did not fight him. "Don't know why I don't just leave you here."

*Because you can't. Because you won't lose.*

He grabbed her by the collar as she slipped. She opened the knife as she pulled it free of the pocket.

Grasping her shoulder, he dragged her towards his horse. She didn't resist, knife ready, waiting for a distraction. He'd already let down his guard.

He was reaching for the rope on the saddle when all the anger and the shame, all the pain and the fear and humiliation blew like a volcano that had been stilled too long.

Twisting, suddenly on fire, she took him by surprise. Diving towards him clenching the knife, she slashed his face. Stunned by the blood, he froze.

The knife aimed at his throat, she drove it towards him with strength born of retribution.

He saw it-tried to twist away-but only succeeded in moving closer. The blade sunk deep in his neck. Blood flowed freely like a fountain as he fell limply to the ground.

She stood over him, staring at the knife she still held, watching as the blood ran down her hand. She'd never killed anyone before. The spatter was all over her. She could taste it in her mouth.

Hunters used blood for the initiation. This was her moment.

In a week or a month there would be more victims when the sparks flew. Somehow, that had never been real before.

But now. . . none of that mattered . . . The only reality was the blood and the knife and the body.

She wiped the blood from the knife down her sleeve. Her hand was smeared with it while she took the pistol off his body, rubbing it across his coat and the rest down her coveralls.

With his rifle and pistol, she took the horse and found her way home.

oo0oo

Jericho was bathed in the first light of morning when she arrived. The first patrol found her, just sitting as the horse grazed, the boy soldier approaching nervously. Heather stood, watching as he stopped a little further back than he might have.

Blood had power. So did revenge.

He'd been in high school the year before. He'd loved to read, had good grades, and played in a band. Now he was holding a rifle and would have killed her if she had been a stranger.

They thought she was dead, like before. Maybe she was. This Heather had been born with the knife and the blood.

So had the boy soldier. She mounted the horse and followed him home, united by the same fire.

oo0oo

Jake was waiting when they brought her into town. He wore the dark look he'd never lost since the invaders had left.

She met his grim eyes with her own. "It's done," she said. "A couple of weeks, no more."

He was watching her, staring at all the blood. She wondered who he saw, or if he liked what it said. Maybe she'd finally become the woman who could live in his world, but he'd never really ever wanted that.

"Good work," he said tersely, not breaking the stare. A brief flash of yesterday was in his face, but the Jake she'd kissed was all but gone.

The Heather that had kissed him had been obliterated.

oo0oo

A week later, a plume of smoke could be seen from the direction of New Bern. Rumors said the factory had caught fire in the late afternoon. Some of the unfortunates trapped inside escaped, but not many. The blaze was so hot and the explosions so intense that it burned down half of the town.

She was working. There were always things to repair. Less since fuel had become almost non-existent, but there was always work in the broken world they lived in.

She kept herself busy, could not do anything else, because, in the end, it was the only way she could live with herself.

finis


End file.
